Bitter Revenge
by Dark Destiny 1329
Summary: Mel's parents are dead, and she thinks the Resistance did it...curtesy of Wyatt and his deceptions. She's hell bent on getting revenge, but she doesn't think through the consequences. Wyatt and Chris have to do that for her. Set in dark world. [Sidestory]


**Bitter Revenge**

**Written by: Shan (aka CharmedGrl4Ever)**

**Disclaimer: We don't own the Charmed Ones, Wyatt, Chris, Bianca and any other characters I forgot to mention. We do, however, own Peyton and Mel (and any others I neglected to mention here that are written in this fic) and would appreciate it if you didn't steal our characters without (A) asking our permission and (B) giving us the credit for them. Thank you! **

**This fanfic is a sidestory to go along with the virtual Charmed Sons' show Dark Destiny. The link for the site can be found on the profile page for this account.**

* * *

"Mel," Wyatt called, and the single syllable echoed through the corridors as he searched for the only cousin smart enough and loyal enough to join his ranks. 

Mel poked her head out of her personalized room and glided over to Wyatt, her long, brown hair flowing behind her. Just like every other day, she wore a transparent, black, short-sleeve top that revealed the black bra underneath. She wore this purposely to spite her parents, who had never let her wear any outfit even remotely sexy. She'd always been mature for her age, and she never forgot the day she turned six when she'd asked her mom to buy her that cute little dress that showed off her navel to any of the cute, little, six-year-old boys who wanted to take a peek in her direction.

She'd also never had any of those misconceptions about cooties and always took great pleasure in watching boys' heads turn as she walked by.

That was the moment she decided Wyatt was the only one she could trust. Wyatt was the only one who would let her do what she wanted to do without questioning her sanity. And a mere month later, she'd had the pleasure to test her loyalty when Wyatt left the Halliwells in search of something bigger and better.

_And they had the nerve to turn around and call him evil just because he knew what he wanted – what he deserved,_ she thought with an angry hiss.

"What's up, Wyatt?" she asked, casually shoving her hands deep into her jean pockets and looking up at her cousin through hard, brown eyes.

"There's something you should know," he murmured in a weary tone, gently steering her back into her room. It was the most comfortable place she knew – other than at Wyatt's side – and he wanted her to have all the comfort she could when he broke the news to her. He hadn't _wanted_ to kill them – not really – but they had left him no choice.

"Sit," he commanded in a tone that bred no question. She sank down on her bed and watched him with inquisitive eyes that asked the question her lips refused. Why was Wyatt pacing in such agitation when he _never_ showed such an emotion? What was the matter?

He raked a hand through his long hair and sighed heavily, not knowing how to do this. "What do you remember about your parents?" he asked at length, not meeting her bewildered gaze.

Mel scowled at the reference; she hated brining up her parents, and Wyatt knew that. "Just that they suppressed who I was and who I could have become," she muttered darkly. "Just that they looked down on me for not having as much power as my sister and that they let _her_ fight in battles and not me. They said it was because she was older, but a year doesn't make much difference in my book. They —"

"—Are dead," Wyatt finished for her, and she froze, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"W-what?" she said slowly, wondering if she had misheard. A time comes in every child's life when he realizes his parents are _not_, in fact, invincible as he grew up believing. Since Mel hadn't lived with her parents for much longer than six years, she didn't get the chance to learn that. She still had a shining, subconscious memory of the loving parents that raised her, despite what she told others – despite what she herself believed.

"The Resistance – they..." He turned to meet her gaze, realizing at once the mistake he made. Her eyes were hollow and haunted, begging for him to tell her she hadn't heard him correctly. She still loved them desperately, like any child loves her parents. "Your parents wanted to join me; they realized what they were doing – what they were _fighting_ – was wrong. They realized what we were about and wanted to join me – to join us. Unfortunately"—his eyes darkened as he played the lie perfectly—"the Resistance isn't too keen on letting people _leave_ its clutches. Phoebe and Coop knew too many secrets. So…" He finally broke his gaze away from hers, shaking his head as his sentence trailed off, having no doubt that her imaginative mind would fill it in for him.

"T-they _murdered them_?" she cried, and though she felt like she'd screamed it was nothing more than a hoarse croak of shock and disbelief. While she trusted Wyatt when he said the Resistance was evil, she never believed her _former_ family would be capable of _this_ – of murdered an aunt and uncle – a sister and brother-in-law – _mother and father_!

"Mel —"

"How the hell did they _justify_ that?" she raged, lividly jumping up from her position on her bed and pacing over to him. "W-why… how _could_ they! They were part of the family; they were… _God!_" She grabbed her pillow and furiously tore at it, wanting nothing more than to rip it to shreds and then watch it turn into the faces of all those she used to know. How could she ever have missed them or cared about them in the least? They were _murderers_ – every last, single one.

"Listen, Mel —"

She whirled back around to stare at her cousin and saw the pained expression in his eyes. She'd almost forgotten that he, too, had lost an aunt and uncle. She wasn't the only one hurting.

"We need to make them _pay_," she hissed, her hands curling into fists as she let the pillow drop to the floor with a soft '_thud_.' "We-we have to kill them – kill them _all_!"

"We can't do that, Mel," Wyatt calmly replied. "My witches and demons aren't strong enough for that yet, and we can't go alone. They'll outnumber us."

"But-but," Mel spluttered in incredulity. Didn't he _want_ to avenge their deaths? "You're twice blessed! Of _course_ you can take them!"

Apologetically, he shook his head, biting his lip at her anguished expression. Tears sprang to her eyes as she angrily shoved him backwards, the only time she ever struck out against him in her life. He was surprised to say the least, though he calmly took the attack. He deserved it more than she would ever know. Her hands still in balls, she struck Wyatt in the chest, sobbing. Every tear crawling down her cheek was another dagger searing over her skin, etching scars into her soul.

"How can you just let them get away with this?" she demanded. "How can you – with what they – I don't – they're dead! Oh god, they're dead!"

She continued to scream, soon becoming incoherent and merely letting loose a series of sobs and jumbled words. When she was too weak to continue fighting Wyatt (who hadn't been hurt in the least by her weak punches), he pulled her to his chest, wrapping his arms around his young cousin.

"Shh," he gently crooned. "It'll be okay."

"No it won't," she murmured against his shirt, shaking her head. She wanted to shove him away again, but she didn't have the energy to fight anymore. She barely had the energy and will to take in shaky breath after painful, shaky breath. Her parents… Oh god, they were her parents…

"I didn't mean it," she sobbed suddenly as if they could hear her from where they now were. "I swear I didn't mean what I said…"

"I know," Wyatt replied tenderly.

"I loved them. I don't care if they don't let me fight." She turned her head to look at her cousin, tears wetting her cheeks and clouding her dark eyes. "Please bring them back, Wyatt. Please. I don't want them to be dead. I didn't mean it; I swear I didn't."

"I can't, Mel," he replied softly but firmly. "They're gone." And it was all his fault in the first place.

* * *

"You look… different," Wyatt said slowly, watching his young cousin warily. For seventeen agonizing days, Mel had refused to leave her room. She wouldn't let Wyatt or anyone else enter, and she returned all her trays of food barely touched. 

Finally, today, she slipped past her door and into the hall; and the demon Wyatt ordered to stand guard sent a message to him immediately. Not even four seconds passed before he was by her side, orbs dissipating and leaving his tall build beside her.

"I changed," she replied, almost cheerfully. Her eyes were still dark and gloomy, so Wyatt didn't believe her faked tone. He knew her well enough to know when she was lying… like right now.

"Into… _that_?" he asked disdainfully. It wasn't exactly _ugly_, but it wasn't exactly Mel either. She was wearing a pale blue, long-sleeved shirt that hung loosely to hide her figure.

_Just like Phoebe and Coop always wanted,_ Wyatt realized.

"Yes," she replied stiffly, fingering the bottom of the shirt. "Into this."

"I like it," he said to her surprise, a small smile gracing his lips. She offered him a halfhearted smile in return and asked, "So do you have anything to eat around here? I'm famished." She glided past him towards the designated kitchen area and asked, "This place looks like it hasn't been used since the last time I was in it."

"It wasn't," Wyatt responded simply, motioning for her to sit down at the table while he found something for her in the fridge. While he rummaged through the food, he explained, "I mostly conjure my food."

"Ah." She hated being reminded of her lack of active powers, and he didn't really like rubbing it in either.

"Besides, it reminded me of you," he added slowly. "And that made me think of how much you were hurting." He plucked out a green apple, closed the fridge door, and chucked it to Mel.

"Hurting?" Mel echoed, frowning slightly in confusion, easily catching the apple in her right hand. She took a small bite and asked, "How do you mean?"

Wyatt whirled around to stare at her, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Uh… You know – mourning," he said slowly, drawing out each word as his calculating eyes took in the way she casually slouched in her chair.

"Oh, that." She waved a dismissive hand in the air and again bit into the apple, letting some of the juice run down her fingers. "I'm over it already."

"You're… over… it," he echoed, eyebrows raised. She _sounded_ like Mel, but she was saying something that Mel would never in a million years even _think_ to say.

"Of course. In a family like ours, we can't exactly be sad about every loss. Now, if _you_ died – not that that's possible – now that's different. I've grown up with you my whole life, you know? It wouldn't be the same thing as losing my parents, who haven't been in my life for how long now?" She shrugged simply and finished her apple in silence, oblivious to the tenseness in the atmosphere around her.

Inside, her mind was screaming at her to stop lying at the one person she held dear and tell him the _truth_. She wanted to run to him and start crying all over again; she wanted to tell him what she planned to do. However, she knew the consequences would be dire. Wyatt would never let her out of his sight if he knew what she was planning.

He refused to take revenge for Phoebe and Coop's deaths, so Mel would. It was quite simple really; all she had to do was wait until the Resistance sent members of her family out into the open, sneak out of Wyatt's Underworld complex, cast a spell to get above ground, and kill them.

She didn't much care about the other members of the Resistance. She had no interest in punishing those she didn't know; all she wanted was to snake her small hands around her cousins, sister, and last remaining aunt. She wanted to choke the life out of them the way she believed her parents had probably been killed. She wanted to cause her _former_ family as much pain as possible – and then some.

It was almost seven months before her plan could even be attempted.

She peaked in on Wyatt every once in a while to see how he was faring, to make sure his demons weren't giving him a hard time (not that she'd be able to change that in a way that he couldn't). Demons tended to be notoriously untrustworthy, and since Wyatt never took that into account she _did_.

This time when she rapped sharply on the door and entered without waiting for a response, she looked up from her wriggling, barefoot toes to see a large smirk on Wyatt's features. She frowned and immediately asked, "What are you smiling about?"

"The Resistance," he remarked with an amused laugh – like a person being entertained at a show. "It's going to attack again tonight; my Seer just confirmed it. I've had suspicions about them for a while now – mostly since they've been laying low. I know my brother well enough to know he wouldn't just give up or quit. He was planning something, and now I know what."

Mel had a hard time sounded casual as she flippantly replied, "Oh?" Her heart pounded with anticipation; she would finally get her revenge! "And what is it they're planning to do exactly?"

"A full-fledged attack against me and the people under me," came the calm response. "They think they have enough power and warriors to take us out."

"So… I guess they're sending the family, then – for the power boost, I mean," she carefully replied.

Wyatt was too excited himself to notice the almost frightening look in his young cousin's eyes. She could barely contain herself; she couldn't _wait_!

"Of course," he answered in a tone that wondered if perhaps that were a rhetorical question. Would they plan a massive attack where they _wouldn't _be at the front line of the battle? Would Chris ever be willing to send people to their deaths without going with them in their suicidal march? Wyatt knew his brother better than anyone.

"Well…" She shrugged, needing all of her self control to simply turn away with calm disinterest. "I hope you get them"—she couldn't help but add her next words and hoped Wyatt wouldn't notice anything suspicious in them—"and make them pay."

He brooded silently as she left his room, wondering if she would ever stop her spiteful path of revenge. If she continued on it, she would end up getting hurt. Of that he was certain.

* * *

"So you're all right here by yourself?" Wyatt wondered. "I'll be busy all night commanding my demons, so…" 

"Wyatt, you've left me alone before now, you know. I'm twelve, not two." She smiled gently at him and said, "Just relax. I'd say 'have fun,' but – well, you know." Her smile suddenly faded as a thought popped into her head. "You're not… _going_, are you?"

"You mean to the battle?" he asked with a short laugh. "Don't be ridiculous, Mel. I can take care of myself, of course; but why put myself into danger when I can command my demons from the safety of one thousand miles away? The only problem is that I can't have people barging into my room to talk while I'm concentrating. If I lose the connection even once…" His voice trailed off, and she nodded in understanding.

"I won't come in," she swore. "I'll play Solitaire or something, all right? Chill."

He nodded and turned to leave, but she called him back quietly. "Yeah?" he asked, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

"Uh… just… thanks, Wyatt. For taking me in and being patient and all that. I know I was probably a jerk some of the time."

Wyatt smiled. He wasn't a mushy person and neither was she, but he was grateful for her loyalty. "Of course you were a pain sometimes," he remarked, "but we're cousins. We need to take care of each other." He ruffled her hair like he used to do when she was a kid. After a few years, she'd simply batted his hand away and complained that she was no longer a child; but this time she let it pass. He didn't have time to wonder about that, though; his demons and witches were already above ground. He needed to concentrate.

"I'll see you first thing in the morning," he promised, leaving the room before he could hear her last words.

"I wouldn't be too sure," she muttered under her breath as she crawled into bed. She didn't want to go just yet. The plan was to rest and build up her strength. Towards the end of the major battle when her family would be dirty, tired, and not expecting another attack she would appear and easily claim their lives. Then and only then, her parents would truly be able to rest in peace.

Naturally, she was terrified. Chris's powers were second only to Wyatt's, and she wasn't sure if they were _ever_ exhausted. However, her parents' deaths had gone un-avenged for far too long; and it was time to end this once and for all.

* * *

Night quickly passed and gave way to the early hours of the morning. Mel awoke with a sudden jolt, sitting up in bed and wondering what had jarred her awake with such a force. Her parents' spirits, perhaps, telling her that it was time? 

Slipping out from underneath the blankets, she tiptoed (as much not to disturb Wyatt as not to _alert_ him) across the room to get dressed. Her watched blinked 4:33 as she pulled on a pair of loose, gray pants and a maroon, long-sleeved shirt. She still refused to wear anything even remotely revealing. After her mom and dad died, she didn't have the slightest desire to rebel against their disciplined rules.

She slipped her feet into a pair of comfortable, open sandals. They were perfect for hiking, and she always used them when she wanted to be completely silent while traveling. The element of surprise was crucial here.

Standing in front of the mirror, she brushed her hair back behind her ears with her fingers. Then, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and thought up a sloppy spell on the stop. She wasn't interested in perfection; she just needed it to be quick and easy.

Without a moment's hesitation she chanted, "Those my parents had to fear, take me to them, far or near." In an instant she was whisked away, leaving only a small, darkened area on her floor that would remain there until she returned.

* * *

She was so sure that it was the _Resistance_ her parents had to fear that when she reappeared she didn't even think about the fact that the spell might have taken her to Wyatt's demons instead. 

She materialized in between the two clashing sides and, without taking notice of the imminent danger, marched towards the witches of the Resistance, who were trading shots with the demons at the other end of the battlefield. At either side of her there were demons on top of witches, witches on top of demons, witches and witches with arms locked around each other's necks. It was truly a Civil War, and it disgusted her how evil the Resistance could be – setting up all these people to be murdered.

Her eyes quickly found Chris, who was up in front with Bianca (_Bianca's with them, too?_ Mel gasped in horror), vanquishing demon after demon. He seemed to be purposely avoiding the witches that worked for Wyatt, not wanting to vanquish those of his own kind. Mel would have been touched if she hadn't known him to be the murder of not only a witch but his own aunt. And a Cupid, one of the purest creatures in the world, second only to a Whitelighter.

_Coward,_ she thought instantly, storming toward her cousin. She could see the sweat pouring down his face, the way his eyes were slitted and filled with fatigue. She saw all this, and she smirked.

However, she didn't want him to lose steam just yet. No, she didn't want the demons surrounding him to kill him. That was her privilege and hers alone. She deserved to murder the one who murdered her mom and dad.

"_Chris!_" she shouted furiously over the din of the battle. However, her voice was easily swallowed in the shouts of agony that came from both sides. "You bastard!" she yelled again, this time knowing he wouldn't hear. "How could you do that to me? Does Peyton even _know_? _Does_ she?"

And, of course, she received no reply.

The three demons around Chris were vanquished one by one, and his gaze slowly slid past the last one as it was engulfed in a pillar of flames. His mouth opened as his eyes fell on his cousin, long since gone. He mouthed her name (or perhaps he spoke it, but she was too far to hear it if he did), and his eyes doubled in size.

She knew that he was seeing the crazed look in her eyes that she had seen staring back at her in the mirror just before casting the incantation to bring her to him. She openly let him see her expression; it would be that last thing he _ever_ saw.

And Bianca… she had known Bianca. After her mother and father's deaths, she almost grew close with the assassin who was supposed to murder her cousin – the cousin who turned her into an orphan. She was thrilled to know that _someone_ possessed her loathing thoughts about Chris. But now she knew the truth; now she knew who Bianca really was.

_Then the bitch can die with my precious cousin,_ she thought, spitting on the ground in front of her feet as she forced herself to move forward.

"Mel, _no!_"

This time Mel heard Chris's terrified scream, and she had only a brief moment to wonder what he was talking about before pain engulfed her very being. And then – nothing.

* * *

From a few yards away, Chris saw her fall as if in slow motion. He watched her eyes widen in surprise and felt his heart squeeze. For a moment he wondered how the hell Wyatt could send a twelve-year-old girl (his own _cousin_ no less) into a fearsome battle. Then, he realized that Wyatt couldn't possibly have known. However evil Wyatt was he loved Mel with everything in him. He would never be willing to sacrifice her for this. She must have come without his consent. 

Bianca was instantly at his side, holding him back from immediately running to his cousin's aid and surely being hit with an energy ball or worse. He yanked himself from her grip and scrambled to the girl's side, kneeling by her head as he held his tears at bay. He touched the side of her face, which was frozen in an expression of amazement. On her back was a large, gaping wound where the fireball had slammed into her and forced her to the ground.

He raised his gaze slightly to a bit lower than the back of her neck and saw, to his horror, a root jutting up from the ground (the tree had long since been incinerated) – jutting up from her back.

"No, no, no, no," he mumbled, turning her over onto her stomach. Her body slid off the root and lay limp in his arms like a rag doll. Blood spurted hot on his hands, and he shivered despite the sticky, summer hear. He felt like one thousand darklighter arrows had just imbedded themselves into his heart – the _exact_ muscle of Mel's that now possessed a great, gaping hole straight through it. Chris could see it pump futilely a few last times before slowing. He literally watched her heart stop, watched the bloody muscle cease its tireless job.

Stumbling to his feet, he only got a few feet away before vomit splattered all over the ground in front of him. With a groan he sank to his knees, trembling, completely oblivious to the powers now whizzing above his head.

"Chris!" he heard, but the call didn't register in his mind. "Chris!" Someone was shaking him roughly, and he looked up into a pair of dark, calculating eyes that belonged to a certain Phoenix spy. "Chris," she was saying, "we need to get out of here. We need to retreat. We're all dying." He watched her lips move with a certain fascination, but he couldn't even begin to process whatever she was telling him.

"Damn it, Chris!" She slapped him hard across the face, but even that was numb. "Chris, please. I know you loved her, but we need to get out of here. _Innocents_ are dying, Chris."

"It doesn't matter," he croaked in a moment of weakness. Closing his eyes, he seemed to fight an inner battle with himself. His rational side won out in the end – just like it always did. Sometimes, like right now, he despised his rational side.

"Tell everyone —" He had to clear his parched, cracked throat before continued. "Tell them to withdraw and get back to the Resistance headquarters. Tell them to… to get out before"—he closed his eyes against the stinging tears that wouldn't have fallen anyway—"before anybody else gets hurt." He had long ago trained himself not to cry, not to _let_ himself cry.

A leader, as he had once been taught, didn't have to be fearless. He could be just as pee-in-your-pants terrified as the next normal guy. All he had to do was _look _fearless. And Chris would. For the sake of all the Innocents in the world – for the sake of his rapidly shrinking family – he would be the best damn leader the world had ever had. He needed to be when the other side had no less than what he was attempting to give his Resistance.

"What do you mean?" Bianca demanded, narrowing her eyes. She ducked and shoved Chris down as well as her senses picked up a fireball being hurled straight at them. They both fell to the floor hard, knocking the wind from their lungs. Chris was too numb to feel it. "Why can't _you_ give the order?"

Mutely, Chris's eyes slid straight past Bianca and to Mel's mangled body, which had yet to be trampled. He had to shelter it – _her_ – before conditions got any worse. "I can't…" he said helplessly. Shakily, he climbed to his feet and, ignoring Bianca's protest, hurried back to his cousin's limp body.

He hugged her to him, buried his head into her shoulder, and orbed before Bianca could do a single thing to stop him. Mel's carcass fell back to the mossy ground with a soft, wet _thump_; and Bianca couldn't help but shudder at the all-too familiar, revolting sound.

* * *

Wyatt's concentration was ruined when a dazzling array of orbs swirled in front of him. His eyes flew open, and for a moment he thought it was Mel, using a spell to appear in his room. He had purposely locked his door so that no one would be able to just walk in. Perhaps she had forgotten her promise not to interrupt. He opened his mouth to yell at her – how she could have just lost him his chances of winning. 

His mouth snapped shut again when the orbs dissipated, revealed a young, grimy, soot-covered Witchlighter with dark hair and bright eyes. He slowly climbed to his feet, as steady and graceful as a cat, despite his great size. Before Chris could blink, there was an energy ball cupped in the palm of his older brother's hand.

It took several seconds for Wyatt to register that Chris wasn't even attempting to escape and only one second more for him to begin to wonder why. Before Wyatt could draw false conclusions – or any conclusions for that matter since his mind was buzzing with the implications of his brother standing before him for the first time in years (had it really been that long?) – Chris let out a raspy sob. Wyatt hadn't heard a sound like that from Chris since… since the day their mother was murdered.

"S-she's dead, Wyatt," Chris whispered in such a broken tone that Wyatt's energy ball immediately dissipated. It seemed as if the two were still connected, as much as Wyatt despised admitting that fact to anyone, most of all himself. Perhaps, somewhere deep inside of him, a part of him was glad Bianca still hadn't been able to kill Chris. Perhaps he should take her off the intended target once and for all.

Looking at his brother now, his brunette hair falling into his eyes, almost but not really hiding the tears that glimmered behind the curtains, Wyatt was reminded of a time when they were younger. He easily recalled nights that Chris, frightened from loud claps of thunder that seized the sky – or even more terrified of the unlikely sounds that were their mother's sobs after their father left them – would slink into his room whispering, "Wy, can I stay with you?"

It had taken Wyatt way too long to force those memories to the darkest recesses of his mind, and he loathed how easily they came alive again now.

Wyatt shook away his thoughts and tried (failing miserably) to keep his tone callous and indifferent when he said, "Who's dead?" Somehow, through the pain in Chris's voice, he seemed to know immediately – whoever it was, Chris (and most likely Wyatt, too) cared for her a great deal. Despite the fact that the two brothers had long ago severed their telepathic link, Wyatt could still sense Chris's mind in complete disarray, racing as wildly as his broken heart. Chris was the most sensible, logical person Wyatt had ever had the (dis)pleasure of knowing. To be this frantic now must have meant something horrible.

It took Chris a moment to find his voice, and when he did, Wyatt wished he hadn't. "Mel. They killed her, Wyatt." He began to sob in anguish in spite of the promise to himself not to. Then, like he used to do when he was little and scared, he turned to his older brother – his protector – and sobbed, "Wy… Oh god, Wy, they killed her."

And just like that all the pain, all the lies, and all anguish that had been set like a barricade between them crumbled. Wyatt had thought he'd be able to keep his wits about him and detach himself from the encounter, but that one nickname – the name he hadn't heard in so long because not even Mel dared speak it – made his defensive disintegrate. He had long ago forgotten how Chris was able to do that.

Immediately, Wyatt enveloped his brother into a tight embrace, shaking his head as tears formed in his eyes. To Wyatt's immense surprise Chris didn't stiffen or pull away or do anything other than wrap his arms around his big brother and pull him closer, sobbing mournfully. Wyatt attempted futilely to blink back tears, but they were suddenly cascading down his cheeks, a salty waterfall of agony.

"It's okay, Chris," he murmured before he realized what he was saying – who he was talking to. "It's all right. It's all going to be okay, I promise."

His mind kept screaming, "He's your enemy!" but his heart – what was left of it – calmly said, "He's your brother."

And Wyatt didn't kill him. They stood like that for longer than either of them would have believed possible, ignorant to the battle still raging. They didn't know when the demons and witches limped home to lick their wounds, casualties from both sides – all painful losses. And the funny part was, after all their involvement in this war, they didn't really care right now. They didn't give a damn.

And just for that one, short night it was like they were brothers again.

* * *

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